


Burning The Candle At Both Ends

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Dry Orgasm, Fighting, Frotting, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rimming, argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 17:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Mark works too hard. Tyler notices.





	Burning The Candle At Both Ends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NBmess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBmess/gifts).



> The retelling of Bluebeard referenced here is actually _Bluebeard's Wife_ by T. Kinfisher. Cannot recommend it enough! The story with the pig with the slit throat was _The White Road_ by Neil Gaiman.

Mark was cracking his knuckles.

He was aware that he was doing it, in a tangential sort of way, but it was happening a long way off.

He was _more_ aware of the fact that he was on camera, and he was talking a mile a minute.

What was he saying?

Fucked if he knew.

But he was talking, and his shoulders were up around his ears, and he didn't eseem to be ale to _stop_.

Then there was a knock on the door, and he whipped around.

"Pardon me, listeners," said Mark, and he went to answer the door.

To be met with Tyler.

"Mark," said Tyler, "it's been ten hours."

"Has it?"

Mark blinked up at Tyler, trying to get his thoughts in order.

What were his thoughts?

God, he was tired. 

Why was he tired?

... he was replaying... what was he replaying. 

What was he replaying?

It had been nothing but game after game after game, and it was making his whole everything somewhat twitchy.

Okay.

"It's been ten hours," Tyler said again. "So. How about we get some dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"It's ten o'clock at night," said Tyler. "Have you eaten since lunch?"

"What was lunch?"

"Don't you mean 'when was lunch?' Mark?"

"No," said Mark. "You said it's ten o'clock at night, you said it's been ten hours since I ate dinner -"

"No, I said it's been ten hours since you ate," said Tyler, and he patted Mark on the shoulder. "How about you turn off the camera and the recording equipment, and then we can go to the kitchen, make you some food?"

"Food," Mark repeated.

Tyler was shooting Mark a worried look.

Mark tried to put on a reassuring smile. 

Judging by the look on Tyler's face, it wasn't reassuring.

"Right," said Tyler, and ha patted Mark on the shoulder again. "So. You're going to go turn off the mic, right?"

"Right," said Mark. "Let me just do my outro."

"Right," said Tyler. "I'll be right here."

"You're not gonna go to the kitchen?"

"Mark," Tyler said, in a slightly long suffering tone of voice, "it's ten at night. I ate almost three hours ago. Come on."

"Oh," said Mark. "Huh. Why'd you do that?"

"Because I knocked on the door and you said you were busy, and since I was being respectful of your privacy and your general work flow, I didn't interrupt you."

"Oh,' said Mark. "Right. That makes sense."

He was beginning to go into the the slight fugue state he always hit when he'd been working too long.

Okay.

He had to shake himself out of this.

Okay. 

Time to do the outro.

He put on his YouTube face, his YouTube voice, and he bid his viewers farewell, and did his outro.

Then he turned various things off, and he stretched, rubbing his eyes.

"Wow," said Tyler, when Mark had shut down the computer, "you look like shit."

"Some supportive... supporter you are," Mark grumbled. 

There wasn't a lot of venom being the grumbling, admittedly, but still. 

"Would you prefer I lied to you, or would you prefer if I was honest?"

Tyler slung an arm around Mark's shoulders, and he gave Mark a squeeze.

Mark leaned into it - Tyler was big, warm, comfortable, familiar. 

Then Tyler leaned in and kissed Mark on the temple.

Mark sighed, holding on to Tyler's shirt with one hand, the other hand holding on to his glasses. 

"You're working too hard," said Tyler.

"I'm doing fine," said Mark. 

"You are not," said Tyler. "If you're not eating enough, which you're obviously not."

"You're such a mother hen," Mark grumbled.

"Someone has to take care of you," said Tyler, and he patted Mark on the hip.

Mark stuck his tongue out at Tyler, and then he made an indignant noise, when Tyler flicked his tongue.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"If you're gonna stick things out, people are gonna be able to poke them," said Tyler.

"That wasn't a poke, that was a flick," said Mark.

"You're feeling pedantic," said Tyler, as the two of them stepped into the kitchen.

"When am I not?"

Mark went to grab something from a cupboard, only for Tyler to gently herd him into a seat.

"You're going to sit, and you're going to eat what I put in front of you," said Tyler.

"Yes, Mom," said Mark, putting enough whine into the last word to come off as pretty obnoxious.

"Do you want me to call your mom and tell her that you're being a brat?"

Tyler had an eyebrow up. 

"Please don't call my mother," Mark said, aware that his tone was more plaintive than it probably should have been, but he was a paranoid dude.

"I won't call your mother," said Tyler, as he went to rummage through the fridge, taking out some hamburger meat. "How do you feel about me making you a burger?"

"Go for it, if it isn't too much work," said Mark, giving a thumbs up.

"You could use the protein," said Tyler.

Mark snorted.

"You come off as such a meathead sometimes, you know that?"

"You're one to talk," said Tyler. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mark said, keeping his tone lofty.

"Of course you don't," said Tyler, and he was rummaging through the fridge again.

Mark didn't look too closely - Tyler was always good with cooking, and Mark didn't poke it too closely.

They had two very different... philosophies of the kitchen, and he wasn't going to be too nosy about the way Tyler did things, considering Tyler wasn't too nosy about his own ways of doing things.

... wow, Mark was tired, if he was thinking in circles like this.

"So tell me about the game that you're doing," said Tyler, as he chopped onions and bell peppers.

"Oh, it's a nice one," said Mark. "It's not that complicated, but you end up just... kinda going into it, you know?"

"Yeah? Why?"

"Well," said Mark, "for starters...."

* * *

Mark talked.

He wasn't entirely aware of the fact that he was talking - he was aware that he was cracking his knuckles, aware that he was occasionally cracking his neck. 

Well, he was tangentially aware that he was doing it. 

It was an automatic nervous thing - almost a nervous tic, letting out the tension that was building up just... release.

Tyler would wince after a particularly loud "pop," and he was shooting Mark a slightly concerned look.

"Are you okay, man?"

He interrupted Mark's (admittedly, rambling) story.

"Hm?"

"You keep cracking things," said Tyler. "Are you stiff?"

"I've been standing in one place for almost ten hours," said Mark. "How could I not be a little stiff?"

"Still," said Tyler. "Aren't you worried about getting something like arthritis or something?"

"That's been debunked," said Mark. 

"No way," said Tyler. "How do you debunk that?"

"This one dude, his mom told him that he'd get arthritis if he cracked his knuckles, so he cracked the knuckles of one hand but not the other for, like, forty years, then got 'em both checked, and found there was no difference."

"Wow," said Tyler.

"I know, right," said Mark. "He proved his mother wrong, scientifically. I think that he got a Nobel prize for that."

"I'd award him one too," said Tyler. "Haven't you ever proved your mother wrong about stuff?"

"Not so that she'd believe me," said Mark, and he laughed. 

He was feeling downright _giddy_ \- he must have been stupidly tired.

This was what he got for just going and going. 

The problem was, when he started, it could be hard to stop.

Especially when it was a game he didn't like as much - he just wanted to get it _done_ , and getting stuff done was important, so he just... kept going.

"I'm like the energizer bunny," he told Tyler.

"Are you, now?"

The frying pan sizzled, as Tyler did some kind of culinary witchery on it.

"Oh yeah," said Mark. "I just keep going and going and going...."

Tyler snickered.

"You're going to end up burning out, if you're not careful," he warned Mark, and he was gesturing with a spatula for emphasis.

"Pshaw," said Mark, making a hand gesture.

Tyler raised an eyebrow.

"Did you just say "pshaw" to me, in all seriousness?"

"I did indeed," said Mark. 

“Have you been watching, like, old movies or something?”

“... what?”

“Nobody under the age of, like, eighty, says “pshaw,”” said Tyler, with some authority.

He was sauteeing onions, and the smell of it filled the small kitchen, making Mark’s mouth water.

“So I may have been marathoning some Downton Abbey,” Mark said. “It’s a good show.”

“You didn’t strike me as being that much of a regency fan,” said Tyler.

“I can have layers,” Mark said, faintly defensive.

“Never said you couldn’t,” Tyler said quickly, and then he was doing… something.

Fucked if Mark could tell, from this angle.

Fucked if Mark _cared_ , truth be told - he was tired, and he was realizing that he ached in a whole bunch of different places, exhaustion beginning to tug at his limbs.

“Since when do you nitpick the way I talk, anyway?”

“I nitpick the way you talk all the time,” Tyler told Mark, “and even if I didn’t, at least some of this is just me talking to you to keep you from falling asleep at the table.”

“I am _not_ going to fall asleep at the table,” Mark said, his tone defensive.

“No? You kinda look like you will.”

“You can’t see me - you’re paying attention to the stove!”

“Would you rather I _didn’t_ pay attention to the stove?”

Tyler looked over his shoulder, but he was still doing… something.

Mark didn’t know, didn’t really care.

He took in the scent of the hamburger, the scent of the onions, all of it washing over him, and he licked his lips.

His stomach growled audibly.

“Can I do anything to help, at least?”

“Don’t go ten hours without eating,” Tyler said, and maybe his voice was a little sharper than it had to be.

Mark quelled, just a bit.

“... sorry,” said Tyler, and he turned around, looking at Mark with a faintly sheepish expression. “I know… I know that you just kinda… get into the zone, and i get that. But I also worry about you. You’ve noticed how _everyone_ is just… burning out, left, right, and center?”

“Everyone isn’t burning out,” Mark argued. “I think a lot of people are just talking about it, since a few people have been vocal about it.”

Tyler shrugged.

“The life you live isn’t exactly healthy,” he pointed out.

“I’m paying bills, I’m exercising, I’m eating -”

“When I bug you to eat,” Tyler cut in. “If I wasn’t here, who even knows how you’d be getting shit done.”

“Well, yes,” said Mark, “but if you weren’t here, I could set an alarm on my phone.”

“Good to know I mean so much to you,” Tyler said, his voice flat. 

… shit.

“Sorry,” said Mark. “That’s not what I meant.”

There was the smell of toasting bread, although the toaster wasn’t on - what was Tyler doing?

“I’m teasing you,” Tyler said, and he was cutting a piece of bread in half. 

Then Mark saw Tyler carefully putting the two sides of a bun onto the frying pan.

Oh.

He must have been toasting the bread in the beef fat, maybe?

Mark’s stomach growled.

“You’re good at cooking,” said Mark. 

“Why do you always sound so surprised when you say that?”

Tyler’s tone was teasing, but there was an undertone of… something under it. 

“Sorry,” said Mark. “I could’ve put that better.”

“You’ve just got foot in mouth today, I suspect,” said Tyler.

He was assembling the hamburger on a plate, and Mark paused to admire the shift of Tyler’s muscles under his shirt - he really was a gorgeous man.

Like, Mark knew that intellectually - Tyler was handsome, Tyler was rugged, Tyler had the kind of profile that you’d expect to find stamped on a Greek coin. 

But it was a bit possible to get used to it, probably the same way that people who worked by the Grand Canyon got used to the majesty and the wonder of it, after the first few months.

“Hey Tyler,” said Mark, “you’re like the Grand Canyon.”

“What, I’m big, vacant, and full of donkey shit?”

Tyler turned around, and he was holding the plate in front of him.

There was indeed a hamburger on it, complete with pickles, lettuce, a tomato, and grilled onions.

When had Tyler put all of that on there?

Mark didn’t particularly care.

He took the hamburger, and he took a big, juicy bite out of it, the juices from it dripping down his chin.

“God, that’s good,” he said, in a faintly reverential tone of voice.

“You make the same noises when I suck your dick,” Tyler said, and he was sitting across from Mark, his expression amused.

“What can I say?” Mark’s mouth was full, and he was mumbling around his mouthful. “You’re good at things to do with mouths.”

“I think there’s a compliment buried in there somewhere,” said Tyler. 

He looked amused.

Mark rolled his eyes, and he prodded Tyler with one foot, moving it up towards Tyler’s lap.

Tyler, instead of protesting, grabbed Mark’s ankle, taking Mark’s foot into his lap and beginning to rub it with both hands.

“God,” said Mark, “you’re making me dinner and giving me a foot rub. All you need is a pair of slippers and a pipe, and this would be like every misogynistic male power fantasy from the fifties.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” said Tyler, and he cracked Mark’s toe.

Mark moaned again, a little louder.

He didn’t regret the standing desk - it had been a very handy thing - but ye gods, sometimes his feet just ached when he got home.

It was nowhere near as bad as working retail - _nothing_ was as bad as working retail - but some things were very much hard on certain bits of his anatomy. 

He shifted, putting his other foot into Tyler’s lap, and Tyler rubbed that foot, carefully.

“I’m a bit too beefy for most of those fantasies,” Tyler said, and he flexed.

Mark snorted.

“I’m sure you’d look wonderful in one of those dresses,” he told Tyler.

“Which dresses?”

“You know,” said Mark. “The fancy ones. The ones you see on women in the fifties.”

“Oh,” said Tyler, and he raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I have the figure for that kind of thing.”

“Hearing you say that you don’t have “the figure” for something is fucking weird,” said Mark. 

“Why, I could never,” said Tyler, and he put on a high, fluting voice, which got Mark cackling like a goddamn hyena, curling forward and nearly choking on his hamburger.

“Dude,” said Tyler, and his expression turned worried. “Please don’t die.”

“Not gonna die,” Mark wheezed, and he took a slug of water. “I’m fine,” he said, and he took a deeper breath this time, panting. 

He felt a little lighter, at least - that was better.

It was always nice, to be able to just… back and forth with Tyler. 

“Do you think that maybe you work too hard?”

Tyler’s tone was… calm, but faintly probing.

It was entirely too casual for the look that Tyler was giving him.

“I dunno,” said Mark. “It’s not like I’ve got anyone else telling me what to do. I’m the only one who’s behind the wheel, as it were.”

“I know,” said Tyler. “I just… worry.”

“I know, I know,” said Mark, and he made a faintly dismissive hand gesture. “Creator burnout is the current big topic on YouTube. Next month, it’ll be… I dunno, creepy dudes and their underage fans.”

Tyler gave a full body shudder.

“Why’d you have to mention that? Now I’m thinking about it.”

“Sorry,” said Mark.

“But all of the think pieces and video essays and whatnot _do_ have a point,” said Tyler. “A lot of YouTube creative types have been burning out.”

“Well, yeah,” said Mark, “but a lot of people have been burning out in general. The world is… not a pleasant place to be right now, and so people are stressed.”

“I meant more that you’ve been doing this slave driving schedule for a few years now, and so has everyone else. I can see how a lot of people are starting to burn out.”

Tyler was frowning, and he looked genuinely worried.

“I’ll be fine,” Mark told Tyler. “Have you ever known me to give up on anything?”

“Burn out isn’t a case of giving up,” said Tyler, and maybe his tone was a little sharper than he meant it to be, or maybe he was _legitimately_ annoyed. 

His hands stayed on Mark’s feet, though, rubbing carefully.

“I know that,” Mark said. “Sorry. I should have put it better.”

“It’s fine,” said Tyler. “I know you don’t say shit like that… on purpose.”

“Shit like what?”

“Kinda insensitive, more than a little bit bone headed stuff,” said Tyler.

“Only kinda boneheaded? I need to work harder,” said Mark, and he took another bite of his hamburger, which was almost gone at this point.

“I’m sure you’ll find some way to improve,” Tyler said, his voice deadpan.

One of his fingers was between Mark’s big toe and the two next to it.

Mark squeezed the finger.

“I’m glad you’ve got faith in me,” Mark said, and he yawned.

It was a big yawn, too, his jaw cracking.

“Maybe you should take a bit of a break this weekend,” said Tyler. “Maybe put up a video saying something like you’re going to take the weekend off?”

“Why would I take the weekend off? Do we have something special planned?”

… shit.

Okay.

So Mark wasn’t the best at doing the boyfriend thing sometimes.

He was (hopefully!) getting better.

“No, we don’t have anything planned,” said Tyler, “but I was thinking that maybe, uh… maybe, it might do you some good to take a break. Let you recharge your batteries a bit.”

“I’ve got a vacation coming up in a few months,” Mark said. “I’m sure I can recharge my batteries then.”

“Do you think you’ve got enough juice to wait a few months?”

Tyler said it in such a serious tone that Mark didn’t even start laughing, although it took a lot of self control to hold it back. 

“I’ve got tons of juice,” Mark assured Tyler. “Full to bursting. I’m like a gusher of… motivation juice.”

“Ew,” said Tyler, wrinkling his nose.

“I wonder what motivation juice would taste like,” Mark added, his tone thoughtful. 

He was staring up at the ceiling now, trying to get his mind wrapped around his latest idea.

“I don’t want to know,” said Tyler, and he squeezed Mark’s ankle, then pushed Mark’s feet off of his lap. “C’mon. I’m going to do dishes. You should shower.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do dishes?”

“I’ll do dishes,” said Tyler. “Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Yeah. Go shower.”

“I resent the implication that I smell bad,” said Mark, but he stood up, stretching, his arms behind his head, his back cracking in interesting ways.

Okay, so maybe he was a little more stiff than he’d originally thought.

“If you smelled bad, I wouldn’t imply it, I’d just tell you,” said Tyler. “You just smell like your studio.”

“Are you saying that my studio smells bad?”

“It smells a little bit like dog and a little bit like BO,” said Tyler. “It’s nothing personal. Go shower.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mark, and he rubbed his eyes. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“No,” said Tyler, “but I can be, if you’d like.” 

Mark made eye contact, raised an eyebrow.

“Are you offering me some kind of kinky sex thing, Tyler Scheid?”

“Possibly, if you’re reading it that way,” said Tyler, and his voice was so goddamn… mellow.

Calm.

The guy took everything in stride, and it would have made Mark crazy, if he wasn’t quite so fond of Tyler.

Jerk, being so likable even when he was being infuriating.

“I’m not asking you to dominate me or whatever, if that’s what you’re implying,” said Mark. 

“It’s a pity,” said Tyler. “That’d probably be good for you.”

“Oh god,” said Mark, and he shuddered. “You sound like… what’s her face, from _Misery_.”

“Who, Annie?”

“Yeah. Wait, you’ve read _Misery_?”

Mark wasn’t sure why he was so surprised - it wasn’t as if Tyler actively disliked horror or anything - he just didn’t seem to actively pursue it much. 

Then again, maybe he did, in his free time.

The two of them may have been dating (and working together, and cohabiting - ye gods, but they were entangled), but they still did their own things in their own time. 

“I read it as soon as you started getting popular enough that people were writing fanfic about you,” Tyler said, and his voice was so deadpan that Mark almost believed him.

“See, that’s the problem,” he told Tyler. “If Annie had just stuck to writing fanfiction, maybe things wouldn’t have gone quite so… like that.”

Tyler snorted.

“So you think that if one of those fanfic people just happened to save you from a car wreck in the middle of nowhere, you wouldn’t worry about them doing anything scary to you?”

Mark shrugged.

“I’d rather not go down that road in the first place, honestly,” said Mark. 

“Well, no,” said Tyler, “but weren’t you going to go shower?”

“So sue me. I got distracted. You’re just such a scintillating conversationalist.”

“Go take a shower,” Tyler said, gesturing at the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark groused, but there wasn’t much venom behind it.

He knew, logically, that it was good for him to go shower.

He was just… easily distracted.

It was probably from being so damn tired, but still somehow… not. He was wired from being on camera, jittery from putting on his best YouTube face.

The food had energized him as well, which left him practically bouncing down the hallway.

He got naked in his bedroom, then stepped into his bathroom, tilting his head back, turning the water on and letting it patter down onto his head.

Okay.

That helped.

That most definitely helped.

He sighed, as the tension that he’d been holding in his shoulders began to dissipate.

He hadn’t even realized that he’d been holding so much tension in his shoulders, truth be told, but oh, that was good.

He rested his forehead against the glass of his shower, his eyes sliding shut, and he leaned into it.

He was tired enough that his eye was twitching, which probably wasn’t a good sign, when it came right down to it, but he wasn’t going to worry about that right now.

He was going to stand under hot water, and he was going to let it plaster his hair to his scalp, and he was going to close his eyes, until he was just in a space that was full of the sound of water, the beat of his own heart.

… he should have turned the light off.l

Oh well.

He could, in theory, get out of the shower and go to turn the water off, but then it would be _cold_ , and he didn’t want to put up with that, did he?

… his blood had thinned out considerably since he’d moved to California, which was a bit of a pity. He used to be able to take a lot more cold.

“I need to start doing that spa thing,” Mark said, quietly to himself.

“Which spa thing?”

Mark almost dropped, _almost_ slipped, and then he looked over.

There was Tyler, standing naked in the bathroom.

“Can I come in?”

Tyler looked faintly sheepish, and also like a goddamn Greek god, with all of those muscles. 

“Sure, just turn the light off,” said Mark.

“... turn the light off?”

“Turn the light off,” said Mark.

“Well,” said Tyler, “okay, but if you break your neck -”

“You can say “I told you so” and I won’t argue with you,” said Mark.

He sighed, a combination of contentment and relief, as the lights went off, and he sighed again, as the glass door of the shower opened, and then Tyler was sliding into the shower with him.

It was a bit of a tight fit - they were chest to chest, and Tyler’s chin was almost on top of Mark’s.

“Hi,” Tyler said, and his voice rumbled through his chest, over to Mark’s, where it buzzed across Mark’s skin.

“Hi,” said Mark. 

“So what spa thing were you talking about?”

“How could you understand me, when I’m muttering under my breath in the shower?”

“I’m used to you muttering under your breath at this point,” said Tyler. 

“Yeah, but in the shower?”

“Maybe I’ve just got good hearing,” Tyler countered.

“Fair enough,” said Mark. “But it’s that thing where you steam in the sauna, and then you jump into snow or ice cold water, and then you go back into the sauna.”

“That sounds exceedingly unpleasant,” said Tyler.

“Sometimes they beat you with birch twigs as well,” Mark added.

“Like… beat you beat you?”

“Yeah,” said Mark.

“I mean, your kink is not my kink and all that, but… that seems a bit much. What kind of therapeutic benefit is there from being beaten by birch twigs?”

“Supposed to get the blood flowing,” said Mark, and he rested his hands on the swell of Tyler’s hips, then moved up, towards Tyler’s sides.

Tyler’s skin was smooth and slippery with sweat and water; Tyler’s breath was humid and hot against Mark’s face, as Mark leaned forward, and then he was leaning forward, and he was kissing the top of Mark’s head, then Mark’s mouth, when Mark turned his head up.

The space was dark, and it seemed like everyone’s body parts were detached from themselves - Mark was stroking along the length of Tyler’s sides, and Tyler’s hands were on Mark’s back, trailing up and down, fingers slotting between the vertebrae, then tracing the muscles of Mark’s back.

Tyler dug his nails in, just a bit, and Mark shuddered, pressing closer.

He was beginning to get a boner, and that was kind of impressive, wasn’t it?

He was so tired - who would have thought that he could get boners?

… who was he kidding - he could always get a boner.

His cock twitched again, the wet head dragging against Tyler’s thigh, and Tyler made an amused noise.

They were kissing now - when had they transitioned to kissing?

Mark wasn’t sure, but Tyler’s mouth was hot and sweet against his own, tasting like itself, a little bit like whatever it was that Tyler had eaten for dinner.

Tyler’s tongue was hot and wet as it wormed its way into Mark’s mouth, and then it was pressed against Mark’s tongue, and Mark was sucking on Tyler’s tongue. 

Mark was tracing along the edges of Tyler’s teeth with the tip of his tongue, and then he was feeling along the insides of Tyler’s cheeks, along Tyler’s palate.

Tyler moaned, and he pressed closer, until Mark’s back was up against the cold glass, and the shock of that was a bit like being hit in the face - the cold glass versus the hot water, the equally hot water, and it was making Mark shake, just a bit, clutching at Tyler’s sides.

Tyler moaned again, and he was holding on to Mark’s hips, his own cock hard and insistent against Mark’s belly.

Tyler pulled back, and he pressed his forehead against Mark’s, so that they were nose to nose, panting and breathing each other’s breath.

“Oh,” Mark said, and his voice was thick.

It was a bit like being in a sauna - the air was misty, full of steam and their own breath, and it was close, damp.

He was sweating already, gross and sticky, but god, there was something heady about that, too.

Tyler was beginning to kiss along Mark’s neck, from the line of Mark’s jaw to his throat, then to the spot where Mark’s pulse was hammering, and his tongue was flickering along that spot, as Mark moaned, his hands going to Tyler’s hair, holding on to it tightly, his fingers tangling in it. 

He tugged on Tyler’s hair, and Tyler moaned, his teeth nipping gently at Mark’s neck, then at Mark’s shoulder. 

Mark arched into it, tugging on Tyler’s hair again, and he let his mouth fall open, his hips rolling forward.

“Oh,” Mark said, his voice thick. 

“Like that?”

Tyler’s voice was low, rough, and it was giving Mark shivers all over.

“I dunno,” said Mark. “Do it again?”

Another nip, and Mark moaned again.

“... yeah,” said Mark. “Like that.”

“Good to know,” said Tyler, and he bit a little harder, a gentle press of spot, at that spot where Mark’s neck met his shoulder.

Mark sighed, leaning into the wall, his knees beginning to shake.

Maybe it was the darkness, or the heat, but everything seemed that much… more.

“Give me a hickey,” Mark said, his voice thick.

“Not someplace visible,” Tyler said, and he sounded faintly amused, his stubble rough against Mark’s neck. “I don’t want to have everyone speculating about this, that, and the other.”

Mark snorted. 

“What would you assume they’d assume?”

“Probably that we’re fucking,” said Tyler, and then he dug his teeth into the meaty part of Mark’s shoulder, and he sucked, hard enough that Mark cried out, his fingers digging into Tyler’s scalp. 

“Fuck,” Mark groaned, as Tyler began to suck.

He was sucking hard enough that it was probably going to leave a sizable hickey - Mark tended to bruise up like a tender peach, which was a pity.

He moaned harder, and his cock was pulsing, right up against Tyler’s, and that was… hmm.

That was interesting.

Mark reached down between them, and he wrapped his hand around his cock, a bit of his fist covering the head of Tyler’s cock as well.

“Hm?”

Tyler pulled back, and he nuzzled into Mark’s neck.

“What hm?”

“I’m curious what you’re doing, that’s all,” Tyler said, and he sounded faintly sheepish.

“What does it feel like?”

Mark used both hands now, to press their cocks together.

Tyler made a surprised noise, but he moaned, his hips rolling forward.

Mark squeezed, and he pressed them closer together, reveling in the sensations that were washing over him.

There was the glide of their cocks together, wet with pre, with water, with sweat. The skin of Tyler’s cock was smooth and silky, and it was enough to make Mark’s toes curl, as they rolled their hips together.

And then there was the feeling of his hands on their cocks, and the feeling of Tyler’s chest pressed into his own, and the way Tyler’s heart was beating, hard and fast enough that it felt almost as if it was going to burst.

Mark would have been worried about that, if he could have found it in himself to care.

He moaned, and then he gasped, as his cock twitched, already on its way to the end.

“I’m so close,” Mark mumbled.

“Already? Usually you last longer than this,” said Tyler.

“It’s been a long day,” said Mark, his tone defensive.

“So that robs you of your stamina?”

“Shut up,” said Mark, and he did something twisty with his wrist. 

Tyler groaned against him, pressing closer, and he was breathing Mark's breath - he was shaking.

"God, Mark," Tyler mumbled, "you feel so good. Fuck...."

His cock was pulsing up against Mark's, and Mark grinned in spite of himself, because making Tyler lose control like this was always so goddamn satisfying. 

"Come on, do it," Mark said, and he arched his back, rubbing his cock against Tyler's, his own cock beginning to pulse in time with Tyler's.

They were, for a moment, like one being - a being of sensation, of sweat, of biting kisses and sliding tongues. 

Mark was hyper aware of every bit of skin that was touching, every place where their nerves were firing. 

It was almost like they were connected with each other, body to body, heart to heart to heart, mind to mind.

... okay, so that might have been a bit cheesy, come to think of it, but Mark wasn't going to feel self conscious when he was on the very edge of his orgasm, his whole body screaming for release, his lungs full of steam, his whole _being_ surrounded by the scent and feel and taste of Tyler, who was as familiar as Mark's own hands.

Then Tyler was gasping, and his cock was pulsing like a star as he came, spilling sticky, hot cum across Mark's own cock. It was hot enough to be scalding, sticky and somehow also silky, coating the backs of Mark's knuckles.

Mark almost wished the light was on - almost wished that he could see Tyler's face, because _god_ was it gorgeous when Tyler came, opening up and going soft and ugly at the same time, the way everyone seems to go when especially vulnerable.

He kissed Tyler through the aftershocks, as Tyler's cock flexed and twitched against Mark's own cock, which was still pulsing with desperate need.

Mark groaned, and then he was beginning to stroke himself harder, using Tyler's cum as lube, and then Tyler's hand was over his, and Tyler was leaning his whole body weight up against Mark's, pinning Mark to the wall, and somehow that was _better_ , although fucked if Mark could explain why, except that he was rolling his hips forward, he was crying out, and all of the points of contact between their bodies seemed to be melding together, turning into one big erogenous zone, until each drop of water seemed like a miniature caress.

The pressure was building behind Mark's eyes, at the base of his spine, deep inside of his gut, and then Tyler leaned in, kissing along the side of his neck, tongue darting out to taste the sweat at his pulse point, and that was what sent Mark over the edge.

Mark sobbed, and he came, coating Tyler's hand, coating his own hand, spilling down onto the floor of the shower.

The sweet pleasure washed over him like a wave, and it left him completely weak, lost in the warmth and the tingling.

His cock was flexing, twitching in the both of their hands, and Tyler was milking him gently, helping him ride through it and making soothing noises.

"Fuck," Mark said, and his voice cracked.

"When was the last time you actually got off?"

Tyler sounded amused.

"Um," said Mark.

"That recently, huh?"

"I've been distracted," Mark said, and he was blushing, just a bit.

"Evidently, if you even forgot to jerk off," said Tyler. "This was a fuckin'... porn star sized load, I swear to god."

"You watch a lot of porn with big loads?"

"You know it," said Tyler, and the leaned down, kissing Mark on the mouth.

He held on to Mark's hip with one slippery, cum covered hand, and Mark was momentarily grossed out, before he rolled his eyes.

He was literally in the shower - he could clean himself off in no time flat.

"You ready to go to bed?"

Mark blinked up at Tyler.

Even without the lights on, there was still a bit of brightness peeking out from under the door, and Mark could just make Tyler out as a big, solid shape in front of him. 

"It's not even midnight," Mark protested.

"Well, no, but you've been working like a dog," said Tyler, then, "not even. Chica works less than you do."

"Of course she does. She's not exactly a working dog."

A wave of exhaustion crested over Mark, then crashed down onto his head like something out of a cartoon. 

The image of an anvil landing on Wile E. Coyote's head popped into Mark's head, and he snickered, and then he yawned again, wider this time. 

"What's so funny?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Mark mumbled, and he was leaning into Tyler, his head resting on Tyler's shoulder.

"Right," said Tyler. "You need to not fall asleep here. I don't want to carry you to bed."

"I'm not going to fall asleep here," Mark grumbled, but he opened his eyes and got back under the water, groping around for a washcloth and the soap.

"You keep telling yourself that," said Tyler. "I'll keep poking you until I'm satisfied."

"You mean to tell me that the whole mutual masturbation thing wasn't satisfying?"

Mark put a note of teasing petulance into his voice, mainly because he could. 

Tyler snorted, and he poked Mark in the side.

"Smartass."

"And you know it."

* * *

Mark washed off, rinsed off, somehow managed to towel himself towards something approach dry, and then stumbled into his bedroom.

"Go to _sleep_ ," Tyler told him, right before Mark closed the door and turned the light out. 

"Yeah, yeah," Mark said to his closed door, as he began to towel himself off again, before crawling into bed.

Okay.

So maybe he had been burning the candle at both ends.

Although what kind of candle had a wick at each end?

How would it burn, anyway, unless it was lying on its side? 

Mark was still pondering on that when he fell asleep, his face pressed into his pillow, still naked and on top of his covers.

* * *

Mark woke up feeling refreshed - he hadn't even realized how badly he'd needed the whole jerk off business until he'd gotten down to it.

Then again, he tended to forget his own sexual needs, what with one thing and another.

He and Tyler messed around plenty of times, that was true, but Mark was pretty used to getting lost in his work (or a hobby, or a new obsession), and by then he was just too tired or loopy or distracted to want to do anything.

But he woke up at a reasonable hour, and he played with Chica on the floor, wrestling and tickling and working her into a frenzy.

They went on a walk together, before the rest of the neighborhood woke up, and then he was eating breakfast, more awake than he'd been in days.

Tyler stumbled in, sweaty from his morning work out, and he blinked over at Mark, his eyes bleary.

"Why are you so chipper?"

"You were right," he told Tyler. "I really did just need to take a break."

"So are you going to take a break today?"

Tyler looked something like hopeful.

"I dunno," said Mark. "Do you think I should?"

Why was he so nervous all of a sudden?

It was like his heart was in his throat.

"Maybe not today, since you didn't play it," Tyler said slowly, his expression thoughtful, "but maybe this weekend?"

"What would you want to do? For the weekend, I mean." 

Mark leaned back in his chair, chewing on his cereal.

Tyler shrugged.

"We could go hiking," he said. "Or if the weather is gross, we could stay in and watch a movie, something like that?"

"Sounds like a good plan," said Mark. 

"We could go out to dinner, if you'd like," Tyler added, and was Mark imagining things, or was Tyler blushing.

"What kind of going out to dinner are you thinking about?"

"What do you mean?"

Tyler was eating an apple now, and the crunching was loud in the kitchen.

"Like... there's "wear a nice shirt" dinner and there's "buy a nicer shirt" dinner," said Mark.

"Oh. Oh, no, nothing, like, stupidly fancy," said Tyler quickly. "You wouldn't have to buy new clothes or anything like that."

"I wouldn't want to have to buy new clothes to go out to dinner," said Mark, and he kept his tone neutral, although he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing.

"Right," said Tyler. "So we've got a date?"

"We've got a date," Mark agreed.

Tyler grinned, and the grin lit up his whole face - Mark's stomach clenched, just a bit, because... wow.

Tyler was the kind of attractive that didn't seem to realize it, but when it was there... holy fuck, but was it there.

Tyler leaned down, and he kissed the top of Mark's head.

"If you do another marathon recording fest like you did last time, I'm going to send Chica in to get you," he told Mark. 

"As if she'd do anything to me. She likes me too much, don't you, Chica?"

Mark leaned down, making kissy noises at the dog.

Chica looked up at him, her expression baleful, the way only golden retrievers can manage.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mark said. 

"You would, wouldn't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mark put some mock outrage into his voice.

Tyler snorted, and he ruffled Mark's hair, and then went off to do... something. 

Fucked if Mark knew.

But okay.

He'd walked the dog, fed the dog, eaten breakfast, gotten his own workout in.

Now to shower and film.

He could do this.

He could be productive! 

* * *

Mark was productive.

Oh, but was he productive.

It helped that today's video was a fun one, if scary.

It was a knockoff of _Slender_ \- a knockoff of _Slender_ , all these years later! - and he had a lot of fun riffing on it and shouting at the right moments.

He mugged for the camera, he bounced around like a mad thing, and he was altogether Charming, if he did say so himself.

... he really had needed someone to metaphorically take him by the hand, hadn't he? 

There was something faintly embarrassing about that, although he wasn't going to dwell too hard on it.

Tyler wasn't complaining about it, and he'd be the one who'd have the right, wouldn't he?

Mark even paused for lunch at a reasonable hour, sitting in the kitchen and eating his sandwich.

Tyler was off doing something - he had mentioned that he was going to help a friend with a project, which, fair enough.

Tyler was allowed to have a life outside of Mark.

There was even something nice about having the house to himself, although it was a bit quiet.

Chica was napping in a sunbeam, looking comfortable enough that Mark was half tempted to join her, except he still had work to do.

Still.

Mark set an alarm for himself, so he'd remember to eat dinner, and then it was back into the fray. 

* * *

Mark came out of his studio with his head faintly fuzzy, rubbing his eyes.

Who knew that multiple jump scares over the course of six hours could leave a guy in such a spacey state of mind.

He was greeted by Tyler, who was standing at the kitchen table, chopping up some kind of vegetable.

"You've emerged from your cave," said Tyler.

"When you say it like that, you make it sound like I've got a... man cave or some shit like that," Mark groused.

"Isn't it a man cave?"

"Not really, no," said Mark. "If it was a man cave, I'd have to have a sign on it that said "no girls allowed" or something like that."

Tyler snorted, and he looked amused.

"There aren't usually any girls around anyway," he pointed out.

"Exactly," said Mark.

"So you're saying that you'd have to put up a redundant sign in order to officially make it a man cave?"

“I’m saying that I’m beyond such petty things. Anyway, if it was a man cave, Kat might not want to help me with editing, and then what am I gonna do?”

“I dunno,” Tyler said, and he was looking thoughtful.

He was, admittedly, looking thoughtful with a knife in one hand and dish towel thrown over one shoulder, which was a bit of an odd look, but still.

“What do you not know?”

“Hold your horses,” Tyler said, “I’m trying to formulate a thought.”

“I thought I smelled smoke,” said Mark.

Tyler shot him the bird with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife, which probably wasn’t safe, but fuck it.

Mark hadn’t worked in food service for a very long time, and he was a bit hazy on some of the finer details of knife safety at this point.

“A lot of the dudes who do the man cave thing _also_ don’t want to do things like vacuuming,” said Tyler slowly, “so there’s this expectation that people who are going to be enjoying the man cave aren’t the same people who are _maintaining_ the man cave.”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” said Mark, and he was laughing, just a bit.

“What do _you_ zone out about when you’re working out?”

“... fair enough,” said Mark.

“I read an old short story about that, ages ago,” said Tyler, and his expression was thoughtful. “It was a retelling of Bluebeard.”

“Wasn’t Bluebeard the pirate?”

Mark sat at the kitchen table, watching Tyler chop.

He probably should have been helping Tyler with stuff, but… eh. 

He was fully aware that at this point in the process, he was just a spanner in the works. 

He’d wash all of the dishes at a later date, but that was a problem for a later date.

“No, that was Blackbeard,” said Tyler. “Bluebeard was the one with the wives.”

“As far as I’m aware, Blackbeard had a lot of wives as well,” Mark pointed out, more to be an ass than to be of any use.

Tyler snorted, and he leaned over, prodding Mark in the side.

“Ow! Hey!”

Mark leaned over and poked Tyler back.

“I’m holding a knife. Don’t poke me when I’m holding a knife.”

“Well, don’t poke me while you’re holding a knife,” Mark countered.

Tyler rolled his eyes.

“There was this line in it, about how the lady - Bluebeard’s wife - had gone into her father’s study when she was a kid and found a bunch of old pornographic etchings and some bad taxidermy, and then she’d gone into her husband’s study all those years later and found the bodies of his wives -”

“Wait, the _bodies_ of his wives?”

Mark was enthralled in spite of himself.

“You _do_ know the story of Bluebeard, right?”

Tyler looked at Mark sidelong, one eyebrow up.

“Um,” said Mark, and he stared at the ceiling, trying to remember if he did, in fact, know the story of Bluebeard. “Was that the one with the “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” or was… no, that was Goldilocks.”

“Right,” said Tyler.

There were a few minutes of quiet, punctuated by Tyler chopping.

“Be bold,” Mark said, out of nowhere.

“Right,” said Tyler.

“I thought that was a different story,” said Mark. “The one with… crud, the girl whose boyfriend tells her to come visit him and then slits the throat of a pig and drags it after his horse? I read it when I was, like, sixteen.”

“What the fuck kind of stories were you reading as a teenager?”

“It was a poetic retelling,” Mark said, trying to sound haughty.

“Was it?”

“Yeah,” said Mark. “Be bold, be bold, but not too bold?”

“Yeah, exactly,” said Tyler. “That’s in Bluebeard.”

“Huh,” said Mark. 

“Although,” Tyler added, “Bluebeard is thought to come from the same story family as The Robber Bridegroom.”

“Since when do you know so much about fairy tales?”

“... what, you don’t go down Wikipedia rabbit holes at weird hours of the night?”

Tyler sounded faintly defensive, and Mark smiled in spite of himself.

Mark stood up, and he came up behind Tyler, wrapping his arms around Tyler’s middle, nuzzling into the back of Tyler’s neck, then pressing a kiss into it.

“You’re more than just a pretty face,” he told Tyler. 

“Good to know,” Tyler said, in that calm voice of his. 

Mark could feel him preening from the compliment, just a bit.

Mark kissed him again, and then let go.

“What can I do? I’d like to be useful.”

“Well,” said Tyler, “to start with, you can set the table.”

“Can do,” said Mark. 

* * *

Tyler and Mark ate dinner, then watched a movie together.

Mark was evidently still worn out from… well, everything, considering the fact that he fell asleep while watching the movie. 

He curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around himself, and was nudged awake by Tyler.

They parted ways after the movie, and Mark went to his room to pass the fuck out and sleep like the dead.

* * * 

The next few days followed that pattern - Mark set alarms for himself to get shit done, he ate meals with Tyler, he watched movies, he walked Chica.

Life went on, as life is wont to do.

Mark began to slip into old habits, since… well, it was easy to do so.

He was always someone who _did_ stuff, who always kept going, and it just… took work to remember to relax.

So he skipped lunch one day, skipped dinner another day.

Tyler gave him a few Looks for it, but didn’t say much of anything, because Tyler was caught up in his own project, whatever it was.

They still kissed each other when they saw each other, they still hung out when they had the chance, and that was the important part, right?

Then it was time for the two of them to have their dinner, and Mark stared at himself in the mirror, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Welp,” said Mark. “I look like death.”

“That’s your own fault,” Tyler called through the door.

“Some supportive partner you are,” Mark called back.

“I’m not your mother,” Tyler said, and now he was standing on the other side of the door - Mark could hear Tyler’s deep voice resonating through the door.

“Well, no,” said Mark, and he opened the door, looking up at Tyler. “That’d make things weird.”

Was he imagining things, or did Tyler look annoyed?

Huh.

“I’m glad you remembered we have a date today,” said Tyler.

“How could I forget that?”

Mark wasn’t sure if he was hurt or not - he was feeling some kind of something.

“Well,” Tyler said, “even though you said you’d stop skipping meals, you missed eating dinner last night.”

“That’s not true,” said Mark, aware that he sounded defensive. “I ate when I finished filming!”

“At midnight,” said Tyler. 

“I thought you’d gone to bed by then,” said Mark.

“I could hear you shuffling around,” said Tyler. “And I’m not your mother. I don’t want to have to keep telling you to take care of yourself.” 

Mark frowned.

There was more than a little bit of frustration boiling on the edge of Tyler’s voice, which was unexpected.

“What’s wrong?”

“You keep saying that you’ll stop working so hard,” said Tyler, “and then you don’t. You just go back to working yourself too hard, and then wondering why you feel like shit.”

“I don’t wonder,” Mark protested. “I know why I feel like crap. I’m just… you know, kinda tired. If I don’t push myself, I wouldn’t be where I am today!”

“Well, no, you wouldn’t be, but you wouldn’t also be on the edge of some kind of breakdown,” said Tyler. 

… wow.

That was an obnoxious comment.

Mark was noticing it from far off, which was unexpected.

Mark was usually a bit more… present in himself when he was angry. 

It felt a bit like he was observing it from a long way off.

His heart was beating very slowly and very loudly in his ears. 

“I’m not on the edge of a breakdown,” Mark said, “and I was doing fine before you moved in, or before we got physical.”

Tyler flushed a dark red.

“Fine,” he said, and he turned around, walking away.

“What do you mean, fine?”

Mark found himself following after Tyler, although he didn’t really… mean to.

_We’re having a fight,_ he realized. 

How about that.

“Why are you so mad at me? You knew that when we got together, I’d be working hard.”

“You’ve been working harder,” said Tyler, “and you’ve been pushing yourself harder. You didn’t used to put in eight or nine hours chunks of time.” 

“I’m trying to make sure I have a buffer,” Mark said, and he was aware that he was probably making an excuse, although what was he making an excuse _for_?

Why were they arguing about this in the first place?

It seemed like a dumb thing to argue about.

“A buffer?”

“If something happens,” Mark supplied. “You know, if I end up in the hospital or something like that. Anyway, having the extra stuff is just… good. If I lose momentum, I’m going to just stop.”

“Do you _really_ think you’re just going to “stop” if you’re not always pushing yourself like that?”

Tyler looked genuinely frustrated.

“Well, yeah,” said Mark, because… well, duh.

“Fuck,” said Tyler, “that’s… that’s not healthy, Mark. You need to actually take rests. It’s bad for you to just work nonstop.”

“I take breaks,” Mark said, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You didn’t used to care so much about this. Are you feeling… like, neglected or something? I told you from the get go, I can’t dedicate all of my time to doing couple shit or whatever.”

“I cannot believe you just reduced my frustration at you running yourself ragged to me wanting “couple time” or some shit like that,” said Tyler. 

He sounded genuinely disgusted.

… and he had every right to be, come to think of it.

Mark had stepped on a landmine, without realizing it. 

Oops. 

Shit.

Tyler didn’t get mad that often - the two of them had maintained a pretty mellow friendship, all things considered - they’d skipped most of the trials and tribulations that go with the longer friendships.

But here was Tyler standing here, grinding his teeth and looking like he wanted to punch Mark.

Huh.

“I’m sorry,” said Mark. “That was out of line.”

“You think?”

Tyler’s voice was flat, and he was going over to the kitchen door, grabbing a pair of sandals.

“Are we still going to… to go to dinner?”

Mark’s voice was anxious, and his stomach was all tied up in knots.

“Nah,” said Tyler. “Why don’t you get some extra work in, since that’s obviously so important.”

And then he was out the door, slamming it behind him.

“Ow,” said Mark, although he wasn’t sure what else to say.

He stood in his empty kitchen, and then he looked down at Chica, who had come trotting in, pressing herself against his leg.

“I really fucked that up, didn’t I?”

Chica was panting, and she nuzzled into his hand when he patted her on the head. 

* * *

Mark went grocery shopping.

When was the last time he’d done that?

Usually they had their groceries delivered, or else Tyler went out and got stuff. 

When the two of them had started to date, they’d gone grocery shopping together - that had been nice, actually. 

Mark missed that.

He bought other things as well - he’d make Tyler dinner.

They had meant to go to a fancy dinner, but Tyler apparently wasn’t in the mood for that, which was… fine, because Mark wasn’t going to be pushy about it.

That had been a bone headed thing to say, hadn’t it?

He knew, intellectually, that Tyler worried about stuff - Tyler worried about actually distracting Mark from important work, worried about Mark being carried off into the glamorous world of YouTube, although Mark had been involved in it long enough that it was probably obvious it wouldn’t happen.

Still.

Mark went home, carrying grocery bags, and then he set to work cooking dinner.

He’d make it up to Tyler.

Even if Tyler came home late, he’d end up wanting to eat something, right?

Mark set about making the fancy pasta sauce that he usually only whipped out for special occasions, trying not to let the anxiety that was curdling in his stomach rise up.

Goddamnit, why was he such a fuck up?

He sighed, and then he looked up, because the door was opening.

He perked up like Chica, and he smiled at Tyler - probably broader than was strictly necessary, when it came down to it, but Tyler smiled back.

“Are you making dinner?”

“Well,” said Mark, “since we’re not going out, I thought maybe we could, uh… maybe we could go with a change of pace, and I’d make you something.”

“Right,” said Tyler. “I’m not sure I’d trust you with a knife, considering what a zombie you look like.”

“I’m not a zombie,’ Mark said. 

“You’re totally a zombie,” said Tyler, “and you’ve put too much thyme in the pasta sauce.”

Mark made an annoyed noise.

“If you’re going to nitpick everything I cook, what’s the point of me even making it for you in the first place?”

“A thousand pardons,” said Tyler, and he held both hands out in front of him. “God forbid I should worry about the guy working sixteen hours a day holding a knife.”

“There are guys out there working sixteen hours a day _with_ knives,” Mark pointed out.

“And then they wash out and have nervous breakdowns,” said Tyler.

He was sitting at the table, though, his arms crossed across his chest.

“I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown,” Mark said.

“A bunch of people who keep your schedule are,” Tyler countered.

“Like who?”

Tyler rattled off a list of names, which had, indeed, recently had mental health trouble.

“Why is it all happening at once, then?”

“Because,” Tyler said, “you’ve all been working these grueling schedules, leaving yourselves… open to everyone, for the past couple of years. I’d think it was a coincidence if it was just one or two people, but it’s almost _everyone_.”

“Some folks haven’t,” Mark said, and he was aware that he was being awfully defensive.

Huh.

That was interesting to think about, actually - why _was_ he so defensive all of a sudden?

“Yeah,” said Tyler. “They’ve generally got a better work-life balance than you do.”

“I have a perfectly fine work-life balance,” Mark argued.

“Oh yeah? When was the last time you had a day off?”

“A couple of months ago,” said Mark. “But that’s -”

Tyler raised an eyebrow.

“Are you suddenly invested in this because we’re dating? Like… not meant in an insulting way, I just feel like this is all a bit sudden.”

Which was true.

“We started dating and people started talking about creator burn out at about the same time,” said Tyler. “That’s just a weird coincidence. I don’t want to… keep you to myself or some shit like that out of _Misery_.”

“Fuck, I wasn’t even thinking of that,” said Mark, which was true. 

“You kinda did, before,” said Tyler. 

“Sorry,” said Mark, and then he was leaning over the pot, beginning to stir. 

“I don’t… I don’t feel like I’m in some kind of competition with your fans or whatever,” said Tyler. “I don’t want you to think that I resent you for working or anything like that. Just… dude.”

“Dude,” Mark echoed, his tone flat.

“You’re working really long days, and you don’t have the best health at the best of times,” said Tyler. “And now here you are, just… pushing yourself and pushing yourself. I don’t want you to end up in the hospital again, I don’t want you to end up doing some kind of _serious_ damage to yourself.”

“Versus not serious?”

There was a note of trepidation in Mark’s own voice, and his stomach was twisting in anxious knots, for some reason.

“You know what I mean,” said Tyler. “And I’m not your mother, or your therapist, or any of that. I’m your boyfriend, and I’m your friend.”

Mark flushed at the word “boyfriend,” and Tyler grinned at him as well, because… well.

It was nice to hear that.

“Right,” said Mark.

“When you… when you push yourself like that,” said Tyler, “it makes me feel like I have to take care of you, and I don’t want to feel like I _have_ to take care of you.”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything,” Mark pointed out.

“I mean, I know that,” said Tyler. “I’m not under any obligation or anything. But you’re still my boyfriend, and I want to take care of you. It just gets… it gets really annoying.”

“Annoying?”

“I know you’re not doing manipulative shit on purpose,” said Tyler, and now he looked downright nervous, “but… well, it can come off that way. Like you don’t want to tell me that you want me to take care of you, so you just… neglect yourself. Which is dumb, I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Mark.

“Is it?”

Tyler’s tone was sharp.

“It’s not… not fine,” said Mark, lacking anything else to say.

Tyler looked at him sidelong.

“I honestly hadn’t thought of it from that perspective,” Mark continued. “I mean… I don’t want you to take care of me. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything like that, I want you to do things you do because you want to, not out of obligation. And I mean, I’m a grown ass man. I was taking care of myself before we go together, before you moved in with me. I’m going to keep being able to take care of myself, on my own.”

“Right,” said Tyler, and he sighed. “I guess I just worry about you, because I know about your health stuff.”

Mark nodded, and then he sighed.

“I guess,” he said slowly, “I guess I’ve been feeling the urge to push… more lately, because I want to… I want to make sure that I’m doing stuff. That I’m being productive, that I’m providing content to the world at large, when everything else is so shit.”

“What, the world is burning down around our ears, so you have to make more videos and ruin your health in doing so?”

Tyler looked genuinely unimpressed. 

“... when you put it like that, it sounds dumb,” Mark groused.

“I get where you’re coming from,” Tyler said, and now his tone was stiff. “I mean, fuck, I’ve been feeling the urge to… you know, do _soemthing_ , but I’m only one guy, and there’s only so much that I can do, or that you can do. And what we do - what _you_ do - is important, but not to the detriment of your own health.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” said Mark, and he meant it, even. 

It was just… well, he hadn’t put all of this into words before. 

At least the air between them had lost some of its… tension, if tension was the word that would apply. 

“Thank you,” said Tyler. “So other than weird pasta sauce, what are we having?”

“It’s not weird,” Mark protested.

“Who ever heard of someone putting thyme in a pasta sauce?”

Tyler’s tone was teasing.

“Listen,” said Mark, “they locked Galileo up in his house for being a visionary, and now look where we are.”

“So you’re the Galileo of pasta sauce?”

“Something like that, yeah,” said Mark. “ _Obviously._ ”

“Obviously,” echoed Tyler.

“... are we okay?”

Mark hated just how sheepish he sounded, but fuck it.

He might as well be straightforward, right?

If he was feeling something, he’d tell Tyler.

He was a grown ass man.

He could be honest about his feelings. 

“We’re okay,” said Tyler. “I’m sorry that I got so bent out of shape.”

Mark shrugged.

“I was kind of being a douchebag,” he told Tyler. “I get why you were pissed.”

“Still,” said Tyler. “I don’t want to make a habit of just storming away when I’m pissed off.”

“You didn’t come off as too… storming away in rage to me, if it helps,” said Mark. 

“That’s good to know,” said Tyler, and he sighed, covering his face with both hands. “The world really is going to shit, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” said Mark, “but there’s not much we can do about it right here and now, so we might as well eat our dinner.”

“That’s a pretty good way of looking at it,” said Tyler.

“I do my best,” said Mark. “You wanna set the table?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

The pasta sauce did turn out a little funny.

The thyme was a bit too… twiggy, and they were both picking bits of it out of their teeth, which was somewhat unpleasant, but not too bad in the grand scheme of things.

“It doesn’t suck,” Tyler said slowly as he chewed, “but you’re not Galileo.” 

“I’m just misunderstood in my time,” Mark sniffed.

"Keep telling yourself that," said Tyler, but he looked fond.

"I shall," said Mark, putting on a fancy voice.

Tyler snickered harder, and then he looked to the side, his expression faintly sheepish. 

"I'm sorry again," he said. "For storming out like that."

"It's okay," Mark assured Tyler. "I was being a jerk."

"We were both jerks," Tyler said. "Can I make it up to you?"

"Sure," said Mark. "Although what am I agreeing to?"

"I was thinking that maybe I could give you a back rub, or something like that?"

Was Mark imagining things, or was Tyler blushing?

"Judging by the color you're turning," Mark said, "I feel like you're planning something else."

"I might have a few ideas, yes," said Tyler. "If you'd be up for them, obviously."

"Why wouldn't I be up for them?"

"... how clean is your butt?"

This was, admittedly, an odd conversation to be having over plates of over-thymed pasta, but then again, when did they do anything normally?

"It's pretty clean," said Mark. "Are you planning stuff with my butt?"

"You'll see," said Tyler. "Maybe I'll punish you for overworking yourself by making you _think_ that I'm going to do things to your butt, but then not do anything with your butt."

"But then you'll be denying yourself the chance to do things to my butt, which I happen to know is an activity that you enjoy a great deal," Mark pointed out. 

"You think I wouldn't deny myself something I enjoy just to get back at you?"

Tyler crossed his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair, and he had one eyebrow up.

"... shit," said Mark. 

"That's what I'd like to avoid," said Tyler.

Mark snickered, and he reached a foot out, prodding Tyler in the leg with it.

Tyler grabbed the foot between his own two feet, squeezing it.

Mark sighed, and he curled his toes against Tyler's calf.

"I got dessert, too," said Mark. "If you'd like any?"

"What'd you get?"

"Eclairs," said Mark. "They had special ones, with lemon creme."

"That's... awfully phallic," said Tyler. "Are you sure you're not trying to seduce me?"

"You've been reading too much Freud," said Mark. "Not everything is a penis. Hell, even Freud said that not everything is a penis."

"Yeah, but he was in denial," said Tyler, and his tone was cheerful. "There's nothing _wrong_ with being faintly obsessed with dicks."

"I am not obsessed with dicks, faintly or otherwise," said Mark, indignant. 

"So why'd you get dick shaped pastries full of creme?"

"They were on sale," said Mark. "Anyway, it's lemon creme, not regular creme."

"So you're interested in watersports is what I'm getting," said Tyler.

"... no, thanks," said Mark. "That's not what I'm trying to imply. I just wanted to get you a nice dessert, to make up for being a douchebag."

"Fair enough, fair enough," said Tyler, and he grinned at Mark with his whole face, his teeth catching the light.

"You're just fucking with me, aren't you?"

Mark couldn't keep the affection out of his voice.

"Yep," Tyler said, his own voice cheerful. "I can't help it. You're easy to fuck with."

"If you're trying to get me in bed, it'd be easier to not call me easy," Mark said.

"A thousand pardons," said Tyler. "So would you like that back rub? You look like you need one." 

"Y'think?"

Mark shifted, rolling his shoulders, and then he winced. 

Okay. 

So he was a bit stiff.

Working at the standing desk had cut down on the way that his back used to hurt, but there was still the fact that he was staying in one place for long periods of time, not shifting around or moving too much. 

"Oh yeah," said Tyler. "I've got some peppermint lotion as well, if you think that might help."

"That'd probably feel good," Mark agreed. "If you're offering."

"I'm offering," said Tyler. "So shall we?"

"We should probably finish eating first," Mark pointed out. "Finish eating, do the dishes -"

"You made dinner, let me worry about the dishes," said Tyler, and he stood up, stretching with his arms above his head.

His shirt rose up a few inches, and Mark allowed himself the luxury of ogling - there were a few inches of pale skin on display, thin, sparse hair going down below Tyler's navel into the waistband of his boxers, which were rising above the waistband of his jeans.

Mark licked his lips, and he looked up the line of Tyler's body... to make eye contact with Tyler, who was smirking at him.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"And you know it," Mark said, because fuck, what was the point of dating a modern day Adonis, if not for the occasional ogle?

... okay, more than the occasional ogle, but still.

Mark licked his lips, and he stood up as well, aware that his cock was beginning to swell, aware that he was feeling some kind of something.

What kind of something?

He wasn't even sure.

Tired, to be sure, but also... what, vulnerable? Nervous?

It wasn't like this was the first time he'd been intimate with Tyler, or even the first back rub he'd gotten from Tyler.

Maybe he was overthinking this.

He sighed, and he followed after Tyler, into Tyler's bedroom.

The two of them had agreed to have separate bedrooms after they'd gotten together - it was nice to have a space to sleep, without having to worry about someone else.

They did sleep together at least four nights out of seven, but there was still something special about being invited into Tyler's space, about choosing to go in.

Something nice about knowing that he was _wanted_ , and not just a day to day part of life.

"Take your shirt off," said Tyler, and he was futzing around with something at the top of his dresser.

Mark pulled his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the side, then lying belly down on the bed, his arms tucked up under his chin.

"You are a disgustingly gorgeous man, you know that?" 

Tyler's voice was conversational, and then the side of the bed dipped down, and one of Tyler's big hands was on Mark's back, right over the shoulder blade.

"I do my best," Mark mumbled, drowsy.

"It's true," said Tyler. 'I can see why all of the fans are drooling over you."

"And here I thought it was just because they were a bunch of thirsty teenagers," said Mark.

"You know some of them are twenty-somethings," said Tyler, and then Tyler's hand was gone.

Something cold was squirted against Mark's back - something that _burned_ cold, and Mark groaned, squirming, grabbing hold of the coverlet.

"You okay?"

Tyler sounded faintly concerned.

"It's cold," Mark complained.

"You big baby," said Tyler, his voice affectionate.

Then he was climbing onto the backs of Mark's thighs, and he was leaning beginning to rub Mark's back.

The lotion smelled strongly of peppermint, and Mark's nose wrinkled.

The tingle of the peppermint sank into his skin, and he sighed, beginning to relax into the bed, his eyes drifting shut.

Wow, but that felt good.

Tyler began to knead, and his thumbs seemed to know exactly where to push, to make it momentarily unbearable, then bring a flood of relief down onto Mark's whole self.

He hadn't realized just how much tension he'd been holding in his back, until Tyler began to knead it out of him.

It was painful, but not necessarily in a bad way - Mark was digging his teeth into his own arm, squirming, as Tyler began to move lower, his thumbs moving in circles, right under Mark's shoulder blades.

"There we go," said Tyler, and his voice was quiet. "I can feel you start to relax. Yeah... c'mon...."

Mark sighed, a long, drawn out sound, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I can feel you getting more comfortable," said Tyler, and his voice was quiet.

He was leaning onto Mark's back now, and something in Mark's back cracked.

Mark groaned, as more tension left his body.

Fuck, he was going to be nothing but a puddle by the end of this.

"You work yourself too hard," Tyler said, and Mark began to tense up, only for Tyler to chase it away with his fingers, his thumbs. "I get why you do it, but I want you to know... all of your fans love you. The ones who would get pissy at you for taking a break would get pissy at you regardless, because some people are just... like that."

Mark sighed, letting Tyler's talk wash over him. 

"I get that you're afraid of somehow losing momentum," Tyler continued, "but at this point, I'd say that you've got enough momentum to possibly go crashing into a wall."

Mark snorted at the mental image.

"You know you'd do that," said Tyler. "Don't deny it."

"I mean, yeah," Mark said, and it felt like he was talking from a long way off. 

He yawned, wide enough that his jaw cracked, and then he groaned, because... oh fuck, Tyler was moving lower.

Tyler was firmly in lower back territory, and that was... less relaxing.

The lower back was, admittedly, designed horribly - when Mark was studying to be a bio-engineer, he'd had to take a few different anatomy tests.

By this point, he could name most of the muscles in various parts of the body, know what their functions were.

The lower back was just... badly designed. 

"God, you're holding a lot of tension here," said Tyler, as he kneaded at Mark's lower back.

Mark grunted, trying not to wriggle too much.

"But I can feel you relaxing," Tyler added.

Tyler was leaning forward, and his crotch was pressing against Mark's ass, as he applied pressure to Mark's lower back.

Mark groaned, and then he ground his hips back, his own cock hard in his pants, throbbing in time with his heart.

Huh.

When had that happened?

The whole tableau was beginning to take on a slightly... surreal cast; everything was illuminated by the golden light of the side table, and the room smelled like Tyler's aftershave and like the peppermint lotion. The skin of Mark's back was chilly, especially where the oil had sank in, but he was warm in his body, if that made any sense.

The arousal that was coursing him was enough to make his hips roll, and he was aware, in a faint sort of way, that he was humping the bed, which was... kind of awkward, but not necessarily bad, because fuck but it felt good. 

He licked his lips, and then he sighed, because Tyler's cock was hard as well, and it was pressing against Mark's ass, almost absently. 

Tyler's fingers were digging into Mark's back now, painfully, and Mark groaned like he was in pain, because in a lot of ways, he was. 

"How's that?" 

Tyler leaned down, and now his chest was up against Mark's back.

There would be lotion in Tyler's shirt.

Oh well.

"It's good," Mark said, and he ground back against Tyler, full on humping him like something out of a certain type of porno.

Tyler moaned, and he nuzzled his face into Mark's neck, his hand going down to stroke along Mark's flank.

"What do you want, Mark?"

Tyler's voice was vibrating through his chest, down into Mark's back, across Mark's skin, and it was enough to make Mark's toes curl, his eyes sliding shut. 

"I want whatever you're offering to give me," Mark said, and his voice cracked.

... welp.

Tyler snickered, right in Mark's ear, and that shouldn't have been hot either, but at the same time, it fucking _was_ , because it was a blast of hot air across Mark's ear. 

Mark shuddered, a full body shudder, and Tyler made another amused noise.

“You are such a horny teenager sometimes, you know that?”

“You’re the one draped over me with a boner,” Mark pointed out.

“So if I rolled you over right now, you wouldn’t have a boner?”

“I didn’t say that,” Mark said. 

“Let he without the boner cast the first stone,” Tyler said.

He was pressing kisses along the back of Mark’s neck, and Mark’s toes were curling, his mouth falling open.

Fuck. 

“That has unfortunate implications,” Mark murmured.

He was grinding his hips forward, and he was holding on tightly to the blankets.

“What kind of implications are we thinking of?”

Tyler’s kisses moved lower, to Mark’s shoulders, and that must have been weird, considering the fact that Mark was still covered in peppermint lotion. 

But hey, it was Tyler’s face, not Mark’s.

“Getting boners from casting stones at people, mainly,” said Tyler.

“That is unfortunate,” agreed Mark.

Tyler was moving lower, kissing along Mark’s back, and Mark was losing time.

Everything was centered on the heat of Tyler’s mouth, on the ticklish way Tyler’s lips traced across his shoulder blades, along the knobs of his spine.

Tyler didn’t seem to have any pithy comment left - he was still kissing, lower now, along Mark’s lower back.

When he reached the curve of Mark’s ass, he nipped, and Mark made a protesting noise.

He lifted his hips up, when Tyler’s thumbs slid into the waistband of his pants, and he let Tyler take his pants and his boxers off.

He was lying on the bed completely naked now, and Tyler was shifting around.

Mark wanted to look over his shoulder, to see what it was that Tyler was looking at, but no; Tyler was probably looking at him.

Tyler’s gaze was practically a physical presence, sweeping across Mark’s body, and Mark shivered.

Then there was an actual physical presence - Tyler was wriggling between Mark’s legs, lying on his belly between Mark’s spread thighs, his hands on Mark’s inner thighs, pushing them open.

Tyler nipped one of the cheeks of Mark’s ass, and Mark shivered, his toes curling into the blankets.

Um.

He sighed, and then he shuddered again, harder this time, because Tyler was spreading the cheeks of his ass open, and Tyler was breathing across his hole.

Tyler’s tongue was coming out, and it was tracing across Mark’s hole.

Mark shuddered, and he pressed his forehead into his forearm.

Fuck.

His knees were digging into the mattress, and it was almost too much.

Almost.

Tyler ate Mark out, and he did it sloppy, did it with the kind of desperation that was a bit of a surprise, because Tyler was usually such a meticulous person. 

But Tyler’s whole face was pressed into Mark’s ass, his breath misty and hot against the crack, his mouth insistent on Mark’s hole, lips moving, tongue thrusting in and out.

It was a sensation utterly unlike any other one - Mark wanted to try to describe it, but… well, fuck it.

It was like having a tongue in his asshole, as a pair of strong hands held him in place, as he was fucked open.

It was hot and wet and flexible, and Tyler was moaning, which was making it begin to vibrate, which was making Mark begin to wriggle, humping the bed.

Fuck. 

Oh, fuck.

Mark was moaning.

How about that?

That was neat.

Wow.

He was aware, in a distant sort of way, that he was observing all of this from a very long way off, while, at the same time, occupying his body.

It was as if he was both feeling it all, and he was narrating it as well, as his balls drew up towards his body, as his cock began to pulse harder, almost painfully.

God, how was Tyler so good at this?

It was… it was wet, and it was _filthy_ , the noises that Tyler was making, but mark wasn’t going to complain, Mark wasn’t going to complain about anything ever again, he was going to just take it and take it, he was going to lie here and let the pleasure wash over him in hot, wet waves. 

Mark didn’t realize he was having a dry orgasm until it was happening - the pressure in his belly breaking like a bone over someone’s knee, the heat filling up his limbs, leaving him temporarily lost, flailing on the bed, his cock drooling out more pre-cum, his legs hard as rocks.

“Fuck,” said Tyler, when he came up for air, “did you just….”

“Yeah,” Mark said, and he didn’t even have it in him to sound sheepish. “Sorry.”

“Why sorry?”

Tyler pressed a kiss to Mark’s thigh, and then he was getting up and off of the bed, going to rummage around for… something, fucked if Mark knew.

Mark didn’t know about anything - he was just lying here, trying to catch his breath.

He was still shaking, just a bit, and his whole body was still on edge.

He could practically count the threads on the blanket he was lying on top of, and his body was still twitching when Tyler came back between his legs.

Something cold was stroking across his hole, and it took a second to realize it was Tyler’s finger.

“You up for getting fucked?”

Tyler said it in the same casual, friendly tone of voice that he used to ask if Mark wanted another piece of cake, or if Mark wanted to go running.

_God_.

Mark licked his lips, and he nodded.

“Please,” he said, and his voice was rough. 

Tyler’s finger slid into him, easy as anything, and was soon joined by another, and then another - three fingers in, moving in and out, pressing down on Mark’s prostate, enough to make Mark buck and sob, humping the bed, his head thrown back and his mouth wide open. 

“You’re squeezing me so tightly,” Tyler said, and god, his voice was rough. “You’re going to feel _so_ good wrapped around my cock.”

“Please,” Mark said, then, _please_!”

“What do you want, Mark?”

Tyler did something especially clever and twisty with his wrist, and Mark’s hips bucked back, his toes still curling, his forehead pressed into the bed, his back arching. 

Mark’s cock wasn’t touch the bed anymore - Mark was on his knees, more or less, and then he was being pushed back onto the bed, and Tyler was lying on top of him.

Tyler was wearing no pants - when had that happened? - and the blunt, wet head of Tyler’s cock was pressing against Mark’s thigh, smearing across the skin there, and then it was sliding into Mark, a long, smooth stroke. 

“Fuck,” Mark groaned, and Tyler’s forehead was pressing into Mark’s shoulder, as Tyler pressed closer.

They were back to chest now, and Tyler had lose his shirt as well, so they were naked skin to naked skin, sliding in each other’s sweat.

Tyler’s cock throbbed inside of Mark, and that was… that was a lot.

It was more than a lot, but it was fucking _perfect_ \- it was enough to make Mark sob, clenching around the dick inside of him, and he rolled his hips back, grinding up into Tyler.

Tyler ground forward, and he was pressing kisses along Mark’s back, along Mark’s shoulders.

“Fuck,” Mark said again, then, “move. _Please_.”

“Gimme a minute,” Tyler said, his voice rough, and then he was drawing his hips back, and forward again, barely moving, but god, it was enough.

It was pressing Mark into the bed, which was grinding Mark’s cock into the bed, rubbing against the blanket.

They should have put a towel down.

Oh well.

Mark clenched around Tyler, and Tyler groaned, a vibration that went through his chest, right up against Mark’s back, and Mark groaned as well, his cock twitching.

Tyler’s hand was moving up, up along Mark’s side, and then Tyler’s fingers were tangling in Mark’s, and they were holding hands together, as Tyler just fucked him.

“You feel so good, fuck,” Tyler groaned, and the sound of their bodies slapping together was _loud_ , almost loud enough to drown out the sound of Mark’s heart in his own ears.

“You’re… no slouch yourself,” said Mark, through gritted teeth, and Tyler snorted, his cock flexing inside of Mark.

“I do my best,” Tyler said, and he gave an especially hard thrust, which pressed Mark deeper into the bed.

Mark groaned like he was in pain, grinding back into Tyler, and then he was shifting, so that he was more or less on all fours, and Tyler was still draped over him, as Mark reached down between his own legs, beginning to stroke his cock.

Tyler’s hand covered up Mark’s, and the both of them stroked him together, Tyler’s hand over Mark’s, and Mark was lost in the sensations - the fullness of Tyler’s cock inside of him, the sweaty heat of Tyler’s chest against his back, the squeeze of Tyler’s hand over his own, the sensation of his own hand on his cock.

There was sweat dripping down the back of Mark’s thigh, and Mark’s mouth was dry from his panting, as his whole body began to tighten up towards orgasm.

“You’re going to cum,” Tyler said, right in Mark’s ear. “You’re going to cum on my cock, I’m gonna feel you cum on my cock, it’s gonna be so fucking good, god, fuck, Mark, give it to me, _please_....” 

Mark didn’t really expect to cum so quickly.

Was it quickly?

He wasn’t really sure, at this point - one minute he was teetering on the edge, every nerve ablaze. The next, he was falling down and into the pleasure, and it swept him up like a tide.

He convulsed in Tyler’s arms, his ass clenching around Tyler’s cock, his cock shuddering in Tyler’s hand, and the pleasure pulsed through him. 

It was a bit like being tasered, except not - his brain was currently too occupied with the sweetness and the heat and the tingling to really give much thought to a good simile. 

Metaphor?

Whatever the fuck it was, there was a lot of cum drooling out of Mark, and Mark’s legs were shaking, his knees still digging into the bed, and then Tyler was crying out, his face in Mark’s neck, and Mark’s ass was flooded with heat.

Tyler’s cock pulsed like a star, and then Tyler’s knees gave out, pushing Mark down into the bed.

Tyler’s breath was ticklish against Mark’s neck, and Tyler’s kisses were soft as they dotted across Mark’s shoulders.

Tyler was still keeping his whole weight on top of Mark, though.

Mark grunted, and made a vaguely protesting noise.

“You’re squashing me,” he said.

“Gimme a sec,” said Tyler.

“If I’m completely squished into your bed, you’re gonna have to scrape me off like a bug,” Mark mumbled. 

“That’d suck,” said Tyler, and he carefully withdrew his cock.

A gush of cum came with it, drooling down Mark’s thigh, and that was… kind of gross, but fuck it.

Mark rolled onto his side, and he leaned in to kiss Tyler on the mouth.

Then he pulled back.

“What?”

Tyler looked faintly offended.

“You had your tongue in my ass,” said Mark. “I’m not gonna put my mouth on your mouth until you’ve brushed your teeth.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, but he grabbed the back of Mark’s head in one hand (possibly the one with the lube sticky fingers, or else the one with Mark’s cum on it - either way, Mark was going to need to wash his hair), pressing their foreheads together.

“At least I finally got you to relax,” Tyler said, his voice light.

Mark snorted.

“You’ll just have to fuck me like that more often, I guess,” Mark said.

“Oh no,” Tyler said, his tone deadpan. “The horror.”

Mark snickered, and then he stretched, finally relaxing completely.

He was going to need to take a shower in a few minutes, but for now… he was going to let the sweat dry on his skin, let the relaxation seep into his bones, and he was going to enjoy the chance to _not_ do anything. 

He didn’t get it that often, after all.

… although maybe he needed to work on that.


End file.
